


Something's Gotta Give

by weabean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, my first work on ao3!, shipping doesn't start after a while, there's gonna be a lot of oc-ish people!, winston is your best friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weabean/pseuds/weabean
Summary: After Overwatch had been disbanded several years ago, here you are. As you always have been. Following an incident involving the loss of use in both legs, you thought that the battle was over for you. But an accidental phone call is all that's needed to get you back into the fray.





	1. Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first work on AO3! I'm hoping to actually try and complete this, and criticism is always welcome! Have a good read!

          It’s the middle of the day when you get the call. Your head is still pounding; sleep deprivation and late night meltdowns have proven themselves to be true pains in the ass. It was a good six hours of sleep, but you were still wishing you could be put to rest were it not for your troubled thoughts.

You’re in the middle of getting your Hot Pocket out of the apartment microwave when it happens. Groaning all while trying to rub the grit out of your eyes, you turn in your wheelchair and blindly reach for your phone, one hand holding the plastic plate that was very warm. With a yawn, you carelessly hit the call button and your stomach drops when you actually look at the phone screen and realize who’s on the other side. _Oh shit_.

There’s a noise of surprise from the other end, and you can feel your heart sink with the way he cheerfully says your name. “Hey there! You’ve finally picked up! Oh, I’ve been trying to reach you for a while! Is everything okay? You haven’t called back in months!”

And here it comes. Holding in your dejected sigh all while cringing painfully, you put the plate down on the counter closest to you. “Uh...hi Winston. Yeah, everything’s okay. Just, uh...helping around as best I can.” You try to mask your tone with a yawn, but it only succeeds in making you feel worse. “Oh, you sound tired. Was this a wrong time?”

“Oh, no no no, just kinda woke up. You’re alright, big guy.” You chuckle quietly, only able to imagine what your friend looked right about now. Either way, your words seem to reassure him; the fire is back in his syllables and the passionate way he talks almost makes you feel excited, too. If only you could ever get a proper amount of sleep. You reach for the cup of coffee you brewed earlier out of habit, feeling the burning ceramic against your knuckles as you hold the handle. Nursing a few sips proves painful, but it doesn’t stop you as you silently listen to Winston go on about how things have been going on his end and what he’s been doing as a scientist. How long has it been since you last spoke to one another?

“Okay, so,” you hear some shuffling, along with some shouting in the back that you think is familiar. Winston’s voice holds barely-concealed excitement. “I’ve initiated a _recall_.”

You nearly spit out your coffee. Instead, you choke on the hot trickle that’s able to escape past your lips and spill some of it onto your hand. “Ow, shit!” You nearly slam the cup onto the counter and wipe your hand against your pajama pants, coughing weakly, all while Winston is stumbling over his own words in worry. “Oh, are you okay?! What happened?!”

“Fuck, sorry, Winston. Just spilt some coffee.” Hissing, you turn to wheel over to the counter sink, trying not to imagine the worried look on his face. He was always so expressive for a guy, more human than you’d known anyone else to be. He waits patiently as you run cold water over the burn, and with a sigh, you lean back into your phone, feeling a little more awake now. If coffee didn’t wake you up, pain sure did. “Okay, if I heard you right, you just said _recall_.”

"Yes. I’ve made contact with several agents a few hours ago. And...they’ve all answered. All of them. We’re meeting at the base in Gibraltar. The coordinates are-”

“Winston, I know where it is...wait, why did you call to tell me all of this? And the..the Petras Act! All Overwatch activity is illegal, you know that right? How’re you gonna pull this off with that big of a team? You know this is risky!”

He takes a deep breath, and for a moment you fear that you’ve crossed some kind of line until he speaks again, his voice low but still holding that intense fire you’ve always known him for. “We know. But we’re doing it anyway. And...haven’t you been doing the same thing?” Your breath hitches, and had it been someone else who called you instead of Winston, you would’ve denied it. But this _was_ Winston, your best friend and someone who read you like a book. Perhaps that was the reason why the calls turned monthly, yearly…

“Look, Winston, I…” You try to find the right words, but it seems to dissolve in your throat. You knew what he was talking about, you weren’t blind to the news. He knew what you were doing, but maybe if you called more, maybe if you kept in touch like an actual friend-

“The reason why I called was because...we _need_ you.”

You nearly choke on your spit this time. Any other thought you had is blown out of window as your grip on the phone is tight enough to crack it. It was almost like you had won the lottery, except the prize was something totally useless to you.

“...you’re kidding.”

“What? No. No! We’re in need of your skills, and not only that, but we’re also short of hands-”

“Winston, you know I can’t fight anymore.” Your eyes drop to your legs, and even if your knees are shaking, your useless limbs feel like dead weight. “I...I can’t do anything for you. You know this.”

“No,” he says, his voice turning serious yet gentle. “Look... Even if you can’t go out in the field, there are other things we need help with besides fighting. You and your team…” He takes a deep breath, but there’s a smile behind it. “We need you. And every single one of them. Please.”

You pull away from the phone for a moment, inhaling shakily. You’re shaking, and you don’t know why. Still, Winston’s gentle words echo inside your head, and it opens up a whole dam of emotions that you had bottled up for who knows how long. You close your eyes and lean heavily back into your chair, throwing an arm over your face.

Taking a deep breath, you press the phone back to your ear. “Winston, have...have you contacted them? Anyone?”

“No. I’m not sure they would willingly come over without you. You’re their leader after all.”

The word makes something in your chest clench, making you wish you could sink into the wheelchair and the core of the earth at that moment. And yet, it makes something in your stomach stir happily. No one has ever really called you that, not in a long time.

“At the very least...please consider it. You and the team have been able to work without being compromised for so long. We need all the help we can get.”

Sitting up in your wheelchair, you look over at the mass of files resting on the kitchen table. Silently, you wheel over, shooing away the cats that had managed to sneak in through the window while you were talking. You stop in front of a certain stack of papers, one of the many you have hoarded over the years. It varied between newspaper clippings, info on wanted criminals, and the documents that you were just barely able to salvage before the explosion. You and the others had already recorded what information there was, but it was comforting; running your hands over the dusty manilla and rubber bands holding it all together.

Breathlessly, while thumbing the paper that left dusty streaks on your fingertips, you say, “I’ll think about it.”

Winston’s pauses, before laughing a little, but you can hear the relief behind it all, and it makes a slow smile creep up onto your face. “Oh my gosh, you don’t know how good it is to hear that! This will be great! This is amazing!” He quickly catches his words with a quiet ‘oh’ before continuing, “I mean, if you, uh, agree of course. No rushing or anything! I’ll be waiting for your answer!”

But with his perception, he knows you have already agreed deep down. And you know it, too.

“Hey, Winston?” You suddenly feel so tired, and once again you sink into your chair, pressing your free hand against your forehead. Winston hums in question, and your own exhausted laughter escapes you, yet you feel awful. “Yeah, what is it?”

“I…” The hand holding the phone begins to sink, and you close your eyes. One of the cats struts over to you, and you watch as it pads up to rub its head against the leg of your pajamas, purring lowly. Right, you had to feed them soon. “Winston, I…”

 _I’m sorry for not picking up the phone, for not answering your calls for these past few years. I’m sorry that I didn’t try to reach out to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t the friend I should be._ “...can you tell me where the coordinates are again?”

“Oh of course! Let’s see…”

 

* * *

 

When you and Winston said your goodbyes, both of your hands fall over the armrests of the wheelchair and you sigh, throwing your head back to look up at your ceiling. It looks like you’d have to pack up soon, and your eyes trail back to the files on the table. A few cats had taken to resting on them, since the sunlight had finally been able to reach through the curtains you kept half-open. Judging by the time, you had to check in with everyone else in a few, even if things were on the low for now.

Still, you reach for the phone again and dial in a number you’ve memorized by heart. Someone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” Angelo’s voice is rough and scratchy as always. His words seem labored, and you can hear the sounds of metal clinking against metal in the background. “Oh, hey Angelo. Is this a bad time?”

“Nah, _jefe_. Just finishing up at the gym. Need something?”

“Yeah, uh…” You wheel around the table to shoo away the cats, keeping the phone in between your ear and shoulder as you unwound the rubber band, flipping through the names of the files and picking one out. It was dusty and just a tad mouldy, but you separate it from the rest and open it. “Just need help throwing some stuff out. And I’ve got some news that I need you to tell the others afterwards, okay?”

“Of course. What time you need me around?”

“Uh...you got anything else planned this evening?”

“Nah. Well, just working on a few cars. Nothing serious though.”

“Then how about now?” You bring up a polaroid photograph, your tense shoulders relaxing as you look over it for what feels like the millionth time. It was a picture of you, Winston, and the rest of the former Overwatch members. How would they look now? What would they think of you? Would they be disappointed? Pictures may stay the same, but the people never do, right?

“Sure! I’ll get there as fast as I can. Hang tight,   _jefe_.”

“Yeah… See you soon.” Ending the call, you place the phone back down on your lap, still staring at the photo. Your eyes felt hot, and you preoccupied yourself with petting the tabby closest to you, leaning back into your wheelchair once more.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Troubled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the call, you're faced with conflicting thoughts. Thankfully, your team is always there to help when you thought they wouldn't.

It doesn’t take long for Angelo to reach your apartment, judging by the low purr of an engine that you recognize immediately from your open window. Moments whirl by until you hear a polite knocking at your door followed by familiar chatter, and with a deep breath, you open your mouth to speak. “It’s open!”

The door creaks, but instead of the tattooed face you grew to knew, you have to suppress a groan as you see your information broker, Tony, strut inside your place like he owned it, a mischievous smile on his face. Following in tow is Angelo, who appears with a neutral line across his face mixed with a hint of annoyance.

“Hi Angelo, thanks for coming.” You give him a smile which he returns with a nod, and you quickly turn in your chair to Tony, who had made a beeline straight for your kitchen. “And Tony? Hey, welcome, but please don’t go into my kitchen again…” You mentally cringe at the reminder of how much food you've lost because of these two, namely him, and Tony grins, settling on your counter instead. “Sorry, boss, just got back from the coffee place. I’m starving!”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and wheel past him to your kitchen. “I can tell. You can toast a Pop Tart if you want, but only one packet, okay?” You reach over the counter for your forgotten coffee and your own Hot Pocket, taking a brave bite now that it had significantly cooled. With a whoop, Tony is in your kitchen in moments and is already raiding your pantry. Through a mouthful, you groan while rubbing your eyes, “Any news, Tony?”

He’s at your toaster in record time, and you hear the click of the slider behind you. “Nah, not really. John’s out of town with his family in Ilois, not much we can do about that. And Ben’s also busy at the vet ‘cause, you know, the whole adoption center thing, Other than that, we’ve got Kennith, Mary, Liz, and Andrea who are pretty much the only people available for anything right now.”

For a kid, he was good at getting around town. You nod appreciatively. “Thanks, Tony. Keep me updated when anything comes up.” The toaster dings and Tony scurries over to crash on your couch, where several cats immediately follow him. Glancing over the counter, you see Angelo on his phone in the armchair where a calico rests on his lap.

A buzzing in your pocket diverts your attention. Taking another bite of no real nutritional value, you reach down to pull up your phone. Several notifications that you normally kept on silent blare up at you, but one peeks out in particular.

_BIG BANANA, (1) MISSED MESSAGE_

You almost want to cry; even after all these years, you never changed Winston’s contact name on your phone and you haven’t touched it for a long time. You do your best to ignore the twinge of fear that escapes you and slide your thumb against the screen, slumping down into your wheelchair.

_Hey! How are things going on your end? Sorry I had to end the call so early, something came up :(_

He’s definitely gotten better at texting, and you sigh quietly as you take another bite, chewing slowly as you wrack your brain for a suitable reply. It’s been a long time since he ever messaged you, even longer since you've done the same.

If you had never answered that phone call in the first place, would he have ever messaged you again afterwards?

_Yeah, everything’s fine. Haven’t told the team yet, but Ang and Tony are at my place atm helping me throw stuff out_

_Tell them I said hi! I’ll leave you to it :D Call when you’re done?_

Call? Your eye twitches, and you try to take another bite only to find there’s no more cheesy goodness to dwell on. You settle for the coffee, now lukewarm and bitter on your tongue.

_Yeah. See you_

You hate to admit you're relieved when he doesn't reply back. With a sigh, you toss the plastic plate into the trash bin closest to you after checking for any hidden cats while the mug goes into the sink. When you return to the living room, Tony is messing around with a white furry friend and Angelo has taken to browsing through some of the files. He doesn't look up at you until you're by his side, a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“I’m guessing these are the things you want to throw out, _jefe_? About time, too; lots of dust on them.”

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. Another wave of exhaustion runs through you, pushed by a hint of embarrassment. “Yeah. There's a lot, isn't there?”

He whistles, eyeing the stack that reaches up to his chest on the table. “Sure is.” Your right-hand man leans closer to you, his voice dropping ever so slightly as to not seem suspicious. Turning your head, you're glad to see that Tony was still messing around with the cats and seemed to be preoccupied at the moment. “Do you have anything else planned?”

You nod silently. “Mhm. It's better if we drove out of town to burn all this. We drop off Tony at your place before we do that. Any gas cans?” Subconsciously, you reach for the flash drive that hides underneath your top, hanging by a string of metal. The neckalace itself was made by Angelo, while the flash drive held all the information you and the team had recorded from the files.

“Yeah, there's some stored in my trunk.” You nod in appreciation and he stands upright again, turning towards one of the many cardboard boxes in the corner. They originally held the files in the first place, but now it was all just cats and cobwebs.

“Tony, can you help us with something?” You call out, and he looks up from his spot, cat hair clinging to his shirt. “What?”

 

It feels like mere moments with Tony and Angelo moving boxes full of files out into the truck, via your wheelchair as you sit in the truck’s passenger seat. You mindlessly scroll through your phone, but in truth, you feel like you're going to be sick. The feeling of nervousness only grows with your exhaustion, and when Angelo peeks inside the truck to check on you, he frowns.

“ _Jefe_ , you alright? You're not looking so good.” You look at him owlishly, before you sigh and lean back into the seat, rubbing your face with a clammy hand. “Uh, yeah. Just a bit nervous. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night.” _Yeah, totally just a bit._

Angelo looks out over the hood of the car for a moment. “Tony, you done? Get in the car when you fold up the wheelchair.” And he moves in to take a seat in the driver’s chair, still looking at you with a small frown, his voice quiet. “Take your meds today?”

Right, your medication. You only shake your head, and Angelo clicks his tongue. He was your right-hand man, he was only looking out for you. No, he was your  _friend_. “I, uh, didn't get the chance. I'll take them when we come back.”

Before he can reply, you hear Tony close the door of the trunk, and you immediately lean back in your chair, trying to smooth yourself out as much as possible. Angelo sits up in his seat and Tony hops inside the car, already going off on a tangent about the new bakery shop that had opened up across your apartment and how he would treat you there sometime. You half-listen to what he says, only mumbling a few words of input while staring outside your window.

It's hard, trying to think about the best outcomes of something that you couldn't see. You were a leader, you had to make decisions that benefitted your chances the most. But with something as big as the recall?

You felt like you were going in blind, everything was just a shot in the dark. How long has it been since you've faced with something like this? Fifteen years? Longer? Have you gotten soft? Were you starting to lose yourself because of how much time has passed? How would your teammates feel about this? Would they still join you? Or would they disagree and leave? They all had their lives on track, but with Overwatch rearing its head again, how would they feel about this?

“ _Jefe_ , how’s the cat thing going?” Angelo speaks, his voice just loud enough for only you to hear. You shake yourself back to where you are now; this is Angelo’s truck. He's just turned on relaxing music and Tony is still in the back, talking nonstop. You're sitting in the passenger’s seat, and you're currently on the verge of a breakdown. You haven't taken any medication today besides a pepperoni Hot Pocket and stale coffee.

“Uh...what?” You say just as quietly, already hating yourself with how susceptible your voice had become. Angelo reaches over and places a hand on your arm, warm and comforting.

“You know, the cats. Saw a lot more than usual at your place today.”

“Y-yeah, it's, uh, almost winter. I keep my window open, and they, they like to climb in whenever.” You know what he's doing, and you're eternally grateful as you try to relax in the seat. Out of the corner of your eye you see Angelo quirk a reassuring smile towards you. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze before moving back to the wheel, pulling up into the driveway of his house. “Alright, Tony. You get off here.”

“Huh? Why? I thought boss needed help.” He leans forwards in his seat, pressed up against yours. “You sure you don't need me for anything else or something?” He almost sounds whiny, and you take a breath before speaking.

“Sorry Tony, but, uh, thanks for your help loading the boxes into the truck. We can take it from here. I promise we’ll call if we need your help.” You look at him in the rearview mirror and offer a weak smile. “We can check out that bakery later.”

He lights up at that, and with a swift goodbye, he's already clambering out the truck. Angelo opens his window. “You better take your clothes out of the dryer before I get back, okay?”

Once the two of you see Tony close the front door behind him, Angelo rolls up the window and backs out of the driveway. You sigh and lean back, closing your eyes for a moment.

It's minutes until your right-hand man speaks up. “ _Jefe_ , you said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Oh god, there it was. You open your eyes to look over at him, the nervousness returning. But now that it was just the two of you, it wasn't as harsh.

“Uh...yeah. It's...I wanted Tony to leave before I said this.” Your rub both your eyes and groan, and Angelo chuckles quietly. “That's for the best. Kid never knows when to stop talking.” You laugh a little too, but it doesn't feel very funny. “Yeah…”

It's silent again. The hum of the truck and the zoom of cars is suddenly much more interesting to focus on. Your familiar surroundings were slowly becoming sparse as the both of you drove further out of town.

"Looks like it's bothering you, whatever it is,” he mumbles as he takes a turn. You nod and breathe in the smell of the air freshener until you feel dizzy. _It's now or later._

"Winston. He…” You feel your voice crack, before desperately pushing away the thoughts that were beginning to crowd into your mind. “He called me earlier today. And I picked up. Angelo, it was…

 

"It’s about the recall. Winston did it. He actually _did_ it.”

 

Angelo actually turns to look at you, and the car swerves as a result. He's quick to move back on the road, but when you turn to look at him, his eyes are wide, large hands gripping the steering wheel tightly with pale knuckles. You breathe shakily and grip the armchair of your seat, letting it soak into him and preoccupying yourself with counting the cars that passed by to ignore the troubled thoughts in your head.

 

The area was quiet when the truck stopped. It actually hadn’t taken too long to find a place, since your apartment was just outside of the main city. In front of you was a wide field of grass, and Angelo had pulled up to a more barren part of the meadow. The ride had been quiet the whole way until now.

"You want me to get out the wheelchair, _jefe_?” Angelo asked once he had turned the key. You shake your head. “No, I’ll watch from here. But if you need help with anything…”

"No, I got it.” He steps out of the car, and you see his retreating form from the rearview mirror while listening to the sound of the trunk being unsealed. You open your door and pull both of your legs out to hang on the side, watching Angelo heave the boxes out into the small clearing. You count four boxes and grip the flash drive hanging around your neck; all physical evidence of the past was being erased right now, and while you felt a jump in your gut as you saw Angelo pull out the red gascan, you told yourself that this was for the better.

"Not sure we’ll even need the gas,” Angelo mumbled as he reaches into his pocket after he had neatly stacked up the boxes, checking for anything around the clearing that wouldn’t take well to the fire. “This should be enough.” He turns to look at you, and in the growing darkness, you can see the barely-there glow of the old tattoos on his face. A ghost of a red skull. “ _Jefe_?”

He needed your confirmation. You close your eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the grass being caressed by the wind and the distant hum of the city behind you. It was an odd combination, but calming. “...yeah.”

He flicks the lighter, kneeling by the large stack, and you watch as the small spark begins to slowly eat away at the cardboard. It spreads quickly, and you feel your front side being warmed as you watch the fire turn paper and manilla into ash. Angelo moves to lean beside your door, not watching the flames, but the expanse of sky that showed mere glimmers of distant stars.

“Have you decided yet?” He asks, his voice just loud enough to hear over the crackling. The fires engulf one whole stack, moving on to the next one already. “About the recall, I mean.”

“I think you already know the answer.” And then he's smiling, bobbing his head at your reply.

"...you know these people will follow you forever, right?”

There's so much you want to say, so many emotions that are welling up inside you it hurts. Still, you swallow dryly and smile, dropping your head as he places a hand on your shoulder.

  
“Yeah. I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeyyy everyone! sorry it took so long just to post another chapter;; i should have said earlier that i'm actually very busy with school and other problems! also...
> 
> characters like Angelo and Tony are going to appear often, but i will not try to involve so much that they get in the way of plot! please ask me about them if you're interested!
> 
> my blog is weabean.tumblr.com ! thanks for being patient with me;;


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